


fell through the floor

by maybemaybenottt



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybemaybenottt/pseuds/maybemaybenottt
Summary: Hot explosion, blood in his lungs, a huge wave-a presence by his side-hot explosion, blood in his lungs, a huge wave-a hand on his face-explosion, blood, wave-”Buck.”-explosion, blood, wave-”Buck!”-Eddie.or: a call gone wrong brings back some memories for Buck.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 206





	fell through the floor

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Right Before My Eyes by Cage the Elephant.
> 
> Warning: descriptions of a panic attack, mentions of minor gun violence, blood.

Some nights are worse than others. 

Tonight, it seems, is no exception. 

Buck wakes up gasping, the cold air of the room rushing into his lungs only to be forced back out in a cough. He tries a few times, lying on his back, taking carefully measured breaths until he feels like he’s regained control. Only then does he sit up and take in the darkness that surrounds him. Glancing at his alarm clock, he blinks a few times to focus on the glowing numbers that read _3:04am._

He throws the covers away from his body and sets his feet down on the cold hardwood floor, letting the chill seep into his heels and toes and remind him where he is; at home, on dry land. No fiery explosions or huge waves. Just a dark, empty apartment in the middle of the night.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, stands, and drags himself to the bathroom. He leans on the sink for a moment, drumming his fingers against the porcelain, before switching on the tap and splashing water into his face. The small light plugged in beneath the mirror illuminates his body, and he stares as each droplet slowly trails down his cheeks, meeting at the base of his chin before falling onto his bare chest. He tries to keep his focus on that. Drive away any lingering thoughts that had come to him in his sleep. 

It doesn’t take long for them to rear their head again, and the cold water is quickly replaced with hot tears. He blinks them away, turns on the tap, and rinses them off. Does it again. And again. And again.

Eventually, it seems the tears forfeit the battle, and he’s left staring into his own blank, red rimmed eyes.

_I’m fine_ , he tells himself, and pretends that it’s true.

He pushes himself off the basin, turning and stopping in the doorway to stare at his bed. He doesn’t see himself getting much more sleep tonight, so he heads for the stairs instead. Walks to the kitchen, crossing the room in his bare feet to grab a glass from the cupboard. 

He fills it. Raises it to his mouth in a trembling grip, but before he can take a sip, a car backfires in the street below his apartment, a loud bang coming in through the open window. The sound is harsh, and far too familiar. It bounces off each empty corner of the apartment; pierces through every wall of distraction that he’d put up between himself and the events of the evening.

The glass slips from his hand and shatters on the ground. He stares at it as the pieces fly across the floor, tries to watch as each tiny sliver spreads itself out across the room to keep his mind from reeling him back to the last call of his shift. It doesn’t work this time. The sounds dig into him, unburying every image he'd been trying to ignore.

His vision goes blurry. He blinks, a tear falls and bounces against the black tile of the floor.

He tries to stop it -looks around the room with blurry eyes and tries to grasp the ghosts of the people who often make it feel so warm- but the tears come anyway. He stumbles backwards, his back hitting the edge of the counter before he sinks down onto the floor, pulling his knees to his chest as the tears flow freely from his eyes. 

Out with them pours every image in his mind he'd been trying to ignore since he woke up, until all those memories are sitting right in front of him. Filling the happy, useful room with nothing but dread. 

He doesn't try to blink the tears away. Every time he closes his eyes, the pictures are more vivid. The darkness isn’t darkness -it’s bright flashing explosions; blood burning the inside of his throat; a huge blue wave washing over him -consuming him. 

It’s the barrel of a gun pointed right between his eyes.

It’s a ridiculous thing to set him off, he knows it. Of all the things that have happened to him in the last year and a half, this is the most mundane. He hadn't gotten hurt. A call went wrong. A man pulled out a gun. He didn’t shoot anything except the doorframe above Buck’s head. 

But there was a moment -the moment between the gunshot going off and the realisation that the bullet hadn’t hit him- where he couldn’t help but think, _after everything, this is how I die?_

It was a paralyzing thought, and it pulled him back into every moment of his life that he’d been working tirelessly to move past. Placed him right back in the middle of them. Right back under that truck, right back on that pier. Every horrible thing that had ever happened to him replayed in the back of his mind like a slideshow, flashing before his eyes like some cliché movie trope. 

It’s happening again, and he desperately needs to get away from it. Buck grabs his phone off the floor from where it had fallen from his pocket. Takes a shuddery breath and stares up at the ceiling as the dial tone sounds in his ear, willing the tears to stop falling. He counts; Eddie picks up after only three rings. 

“Buck?” He sounds tired. Buck feels a tiny twinge of guilt, but it’s swallowed by everything else swimming around in his head. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He tries to speak, but the only sound that leaves his mouth is a quiet sob. 

“Buck?” He sounds fully awake now. "Talk to me. What’s going on?” 

“Eddie, I-” He chokes out. It doesn’t go any farther than that.

“Stay right where you are, okay? I’m coming to you.”

Buck tries to speak again; beg him not to hang up and leave him alone with his thoughts, but Eddie is gone before he gets the chance. And with nothing left to ground him in the present, the memories crawl right back under his skin.

He shuts his eyes and feels the searing pain in his leg; the weight of the truck on top of him; the heat of the orange flames licking at his feet.

He feels the blood fill his lungs and come sputtering out. Sees the wide-eyed looks of every party guest as they watch him collapse onto the grass. Hears a faint shout of _somebody call 911!_ before he’s consumed by darkness. 

He feels the pressure of a huge wave slamming him back into the wall of the game stand. Feels the burn of salt water -cold, cold water, a contrast to the warm blood- filling his lungs. Feels a tiny hand slipping from his grasp, and the bone deep dread that comes with the realisation that the boy who had been in his arms just a few seconds earlier was nowhere to be seen. 

He’s finally pulled back to earlier this very evening, to the moment everything went sideways. 

It all plays on a loop, over and over and over again.

_Hot explosion, blood in his lungs, a huge wave_ -a presence by his side- _hot explosion, blood in his lungs, a huge wave_ -a hand on his face- _explosion, blood, wave_ -”Buck.”- _explosion, blood, wave_ -”Buck!”

_-Eddie._

His face seems out of place. A very kind thing in a sea of ugliness.

But Eddie’s not supposed to be here. No, Eddie is supposed to be far, far away from all of this mess. Buck shakes his head. Tries to push Eddie away, but his arms feel very weak, and he can’t seem to find enough air in the room to breathe.

“Buck.” Eddie says, not moving an inch. He places both hands on Buck’s face. “Look at me.”

Buck shakes his head. Doesn’t want to look -to associate something so good with all the terrible things in his head. He tries to wrench himself from Eddie’s grasp, but Eddie doesn’t budge.

“Look around, Buck. You’re here. You’re right here in the kitchen. I don't know if your brain has convinced you that you're somewhere else, but you’re not. You're here, at home, with me. Can you focus on that?"

Buck blinks. Looks around the room, and tries to follow Eddie's advice. Catalogues everything he sees -the coffee mug he left on the counter this morning, no time to wash it before work. The bottle of wine from his dinner with Maddie a few nights ago, sitting on the table. The slow drip of water from the tap he hasn't yet had time to fix. 

He looks at Eddie, finally, and is met with wide, concerned eyes. He stares, blinks away each tear that obscures his view, and keeps his gaze there. 

“Just breathe. In and out." 

Buck swallows. Takes a deep breath in through his nose. It’s shaky, but it reaches his lungs this time.

Eddie nods. He tries again. And again. And again.

He keeps his eyes focused on Eddie’s. Takes note of the warm hands against his cheeks and the cool tile floor beneath him. He can smell the brand of soap that he used to mop the floor last week -It was lemon scented, he remembers that. It’s a funny thing to think about, right here as he falls to pieces in front of his best friend, but his brain focuses on it, along with every other sensation he can name, and it brings him back to the present.

“Eddie.”

“I’m here. Are you with me?”

He looks at Eddie for a moment, then nods. 

“Good.” Eddie’s eyes sweep over him, stopping at Buck’s hand, lying palm up beside him on the floor. “You’re hurt.”

He sniffles. “What? No, I-” He looks down at his hand. There’s a gash in his palm, blood smeared all over it. He doesn't know where it came from. “Oh." He stares. "I don’t- I don’t remember doing that.”

Eddie glances at the broken glass on the floor. “Must’ve cut yourself when you sat down. One second.” He stands, and Buck misses his warmth immediately. Eddie arrives back a moment later with a wet cloth, gauze, and a rolled up bandage in his hand. Crouching back down in front of Buck, he comments; “Good thing I know where you keep your first aid kit, huh?”

Buck tries to smile. He figures it comes out as more of a wince.

Eddie takes his hand, cleans and dresses the wound, and wraps the bandage around it gently. Buck watches. The small point of contact keeps him grounded in the moment. Eddie finishes and lays Buck’s hand down onto his knee, taking the uninjured one and squeezing. “Better,” he says. Buck’s not sure he feels it.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, meeting Eddie’s eye after the silence stretches for too long. “I was doing better, I _am_ doing better, I just-”

“Hey, these things take time. One setback doesn’t throw away all the progress you’ve made.”

Buck looks away, towards the window where the sound of the city is still coming in. “It kinda feels like it does.” He wipes the tears from his cheeks. Another small one escapes. He lets it fall. “It’s not even about what happened tonight, it’s just… everything it reminded me of.”

Eddie nods. “Lots of things can set us off.” 

“I just want to be over it. All of it.”

Eddie hums. “I get it. But there are some things, I’ve found, that you just have to learn to live with.”

Buck swallows, nods. 

Eddie stands, holding out a hand for Buck to take. 

“It’s late,” He says. “Let’s try and get some more sleep.”

Buck is struck with a realisation. “Chris-”

“Is at my aunt’s. Always is when I work a late shift.” Eddie reminds him.

“You don’t have to stay,” Buck says.

“I know.”

He does anyway. 

When Buck wakes up a few hours later, the sun is just starting to creep over the horizon. It comes in through the windows, painting the apartment in a much different light than it had appeared in the night before. He feels calmer, in the light of day. Lying in a warm bed, with a strong arm around him, keeping him in place. 

He takes it all in, and is reminded that some days are better than others too.

**Author's Note:**

> [come find me on tumblr! @deareddie](https://deareddie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
